The Princess of Polis
by Snapplelinz
Summary: It's another reality from a different time and Clark Griffin is still stirring up trouble wherever she goes. Luckily she has a mysterious hooded heroine known only as 'Heda' by her side to protect her. Clexa AU.
1. Ch 1 - The Benefactress

_Author's Note: Hello, fair Clexa shippers! I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been in a weird funk since Lexa's death on 'The 100', Here was this beautiful and wonderfully sexy lesbian pairing that I never realised I'd grow to care about so much and then it was just...over. It left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of Clexa fanfic-binging could fix. So I decided to take one of my original stories that I'm writing for my girlfriend and turned it into a Clexa fic instead. The setting's very different from the TV show, but with a few canon shout-outs here and there. Please read further and validate me :-P_

 _Disclaimer:_ _All images and TV-show references belong to 'The 100'._

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 **The year was 1846** just a few miles shy of the booming capital of Washington The District. Where wagon wheels left faded tracks along the dusty roads of the wild prairie, there was a little town called Polis. That idyllic village running along the southern edges of the Potomac River bordering Southern Virginia was filled with enough gaiety to warm even the frostiest of hearts in America's great capital just a stone's throw away. Despite the many bloody battles between the European settlers and the Nacotchtank, heated discourse between the politicians of the day on whether to finally abolish slavery and continued interference from the British Empire, the inhabitants of Polis remained amiable in the ignorant fortitude of their ancestry and traditions.

While the rest of the great American nation were concerned with protecting their land against the natives and consumed with gold fever, Polis remained relatively unperturbed during these bewildering times where greed and national pride struggled to create an earnest alliance. The folk, while physically poor, abounded in the wealth of generosity when it came to helping their neighbours. Perhaps the townsfolk of Polis had reason to be hopeful in these times of great national uncertainty. For they had a notably rich benefactor who had taken great pains to ensure the prosperity of their sleepy town during these times of hardship. But there was something quite astounding about Polis' wealthy benefactor.

That noble character went against the grain in every single way: she frequently wore immaculate petticoats, dainty frocks which invoked the most vivid imaginative colours, twirled an umbrella with a black and gold oriental print imported from Japan in the rain and sunshine and greeted every stranger she met with a dazzling smile and piercing blue eyes which were sure to enslave even the most stubborn of souls.

The esteemed Miss Clarissa Griffin, otherwise known as 'Clark' or 'The Princess of Polis' in the absence of a true royal family, was a peculiar member of the fairer sex. While she lived in Arkadia, an impressive mansion which stretched for thousands of acres all the way to the tributaries of the Anacostia River, she was often seen mingling with the people of Polis at any given time. Her innate grace in receiving guests of a lower class than herself without the latter ever once feeling the condescension of money was one of her best and most dangerous qualities. While a great deal of the local population admired the young lady, there were a select few, particularly of the male and political persuasion, who resented her money and independence and the way that she advocated for the downtrodden, particularly women within the District of Columbia.

While Miss Griffin was always kind in her demeanour, one could not mistake her kindness for naivety. Like her father before her, Clark was quick to comfort the poor and destitute and even quicker with dismissing the crude and callous with a sharp dismissal from her tongue. Even while she dealt out bitter-tasting insults, one still couldn't help marvelling at her blondish-brown hair which fell in delicate, balayage curtains down her back when her hand maidens brushed out every wavy, silk-spun strand. Despite coming from unusual parentage (her late father had been an esteemed scientist in the community while her mother was renowned and infamous for being one of the first female doctors in the district), Miss Griffin was welcomed into the picturesque village from the moment she'd first arrived from the cobbled streets of Washington just a year before.

Her father's untimely passing from an experiment gone wrong in his laboratory had brought Clark Griffin back to half of her family heritage: a crumbling manor house with the family crest hung over the gate which was barely discernible from the rats and rubble which had made a home beneath the rotten wooden beams and weathered stones. With a lot of love and money, the ancestral Griffin home had been restored to its former glory and the Griffins' only daughter, with her unequivocal charm, had hosted many a dinner and dance that the townsfolk were invited to along with many of the district's most celebrated politicians and dignitaries of the time. Clark was an only child, but despite her seemingly lonely lifestyle, she smiled often and kept up her correspondences with fervour, attending any and every festival or event which Polis hosted, including the Local Artisans Market.

The marketplace was located atop a rickety harbour overlooking the Anacostia River known humorously as the Seafront. Its creaking wooden boards doubled as makeshift streets, the strong briny stench of fish and other livestock filling every orifice with nauseating freshness. The place was quite a sight to behold as the townsfolk flocked to the various stalls and amusements the market had to offer. The smells of wild turkey sizzling in the midday sun and fermented lager drifted through the nostrils of the residents of Polis as merchants in tattered clothing implored idle strollers to try their wares.

Wide-eyed children watched in awe as Jasper Jordan and Montgomery Green (known only as 'Monty' by the locals), Polis's very own hoodlum tricksters, balanced their skinny frames on matching unicycles while juggling potatoes and proceeding to throw them at one another for the crowd's amusement.

Young Macallan, the local organist at the Holy Trinity Church and _The Shooting Star_ , a popular watering hole, danced up a spirited jig with his favourite bowler hat placed before him to encourage onlookers to help him pay his increasing bar tab.

With Indra, her hand maiden, walking close beside her and casting a dubious eye at the surrounding frivolity, Clark strolled gaily along, nibbling daintily on delectable Kettle Corn wrapped in newsprint which she had purchased from a farming entrepreneur named Finn just a minute before. She was stopped several times by the local folk, each of them thanking her for one thing or another that she had done to assist them with, whether it was donating money to various charities or offering her judicious advice to squabbling neighbours.

Two aged men, Dante and Sinclair, stood near a woman selling ripe peach-coloured apples, and watched with dispassionate intrigue as Miss Griffin stooped courteously to greet yet another passer-by. Only this time, this particular resident of Polis was a few head shorter than Clark and only 12 years old.

"I do declare, you've grown a head taller, Master Aden!" Clark greeted with affection. Despite only being a young boy, Aden was unlike other lads his age in Polis. He enjoyed rough-housing in the mud and playing a game of football with a leathered pig skin like any other, but unbeknown to his contemporaries, he was soft-spoken with polite manners. that Clark greatly admired. If she had a say in the matter, he would turn out to be a fine gentleman.

"You say that every time you see me, Miss Clark," Aden stammered, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink at the older woman's bewitching charm. If he only he were 10 years older, he might've dared to ask that beautiful creature to be hid waltz partner at the dance held every year in honour of the Harvest Moon.

"Because I mean it," Clark emphasised with firm earnestness. "You'll turn into a fine gentleman yet."

"I'd much rather have one of them fancy bicycles you told me about from your last visit to Washington."

"Oh, they are beautiful!" Clark exclaimed enviously. "And the new ones they've built have a wheel in front to help you steer too! Not at all like those dangerous contraptions that Jasper and Monty ride for a laugh." She added with a shudder just for comical effect.

"She must be touched in the head, talking all day to those gophers bothering her at every turn." Dante scoffed openly, chewing on tobacco as he spoke. He was of the older generation who believed that while children weren't made to be loved and cared for, adults should never treat children as their equals.

"You're a cynical gopher, Dante," Sinclair retorted, his heart warming at the earnest exchange between Clark and Aden. "Miss Griffin has a heart of gold," he added with deep admiration. He too had witnessed Clark's altruism up close when she had arranged for his sickly daughter to be transported to a newly built private hospital in Washington months before. The young lady had paid all of the hospital fees and beseeched the older man not to consider paying her back.

"Be that as it may, she's going to get herself into trouble shepherding this unruly flock." Dante tutted, sounding like he was deeply concerned about Clark's wellbeing.

"Aye, but she's a do-gooder to the core and loves helping our folk. It's not as though she has other lady-like whims to attend to."

"Mr. Emerson will soon see to that," Dante added with relish, bursting to spill the beans on a choice piece of gossip he'd heard in one of the local taverns yesterday.

Sinclair's whisker-filled ears pricked up at this titbit of new information. "Carlton Emerson eh? There's a fancy dandy if I ever saw one. What business does he have with Miss Griffin?"

"What other business of note is there besides the marrying kind?"

"Poor bastard. Doesn't he know that the lady isn't the marrying kind? She's turned down every suitor from here to Boston in half a year."

"Well this Emerson feller is a persistent bastard, I'll give him that."

Just then, Sinclair took off his faded cap and emitted a low whistle. "Speak of the devil too often and he'll soon appear!"

Dante followed his companion's gaze and emitted an amused chuckle. "Let's see if our duchess can avoid going to church after all…"

Clark was still in the midst of finishing her delectable kettle corn and chatting amiably to Aden when a man approached her. When she saw who it was, a shudder passed through her veins. She'd met Mr. Carlton Emerson just a month ago and she already detested the man. He was rumoured to be one of the richest men in the district, his people having earned their wealth and name from raising cattle in Indian country. He was also rumoured to be related to the English royal family, but no one, least of all the earnest and unimpressionable folk of Polis, believed that for an instant.

In addition to his various titles, Carlton Emerson was exceedingly good looking with his fashionable suits, an impressive looking cane tipped with silver which he could be seen walking with everywhere, neat golden blonde hair with an impressive handle-bar moustache and hazel brown eyes which reminded one of chestnuts in the fall. And yet, beneath all that grandeur, Clark sensed an austerity of heart and mind which spoke of untold cruelty and beastliness. But for the sake of appearances, she tolerated inviting him to her home for elegant dinners and laughing perfunctorily at his attempts at flattery when they met publicly like this.

Aden saw the man approaching too and scowled. Mr. Emerson never had time for anyone save Miss Clark. Aden gritted his teeth when he thought of all the times that the older man had yelled at the young children playing too close to his carriage, complaining that their scruffy shoes had sullied the wheels. The young lad felt that Miss Griffin had no business socialising with a brute like that.

"You'd better head home before your mother gets worried, Aden," Clark said in a dismissive tone, but with a meaningful glance at the boy to show that her words were only for show. "The next time we meet, I'm going to quiz you on your multiplication tables," she added with a furtive smile which Aden alone saw.

Aden grinned toothily at her. "Aye, Miss Griffin." He cast one final look of suspicion at Mr. Emerson, who ignored his presence completely. Then the young boy disappeared into the crowd of townsfolk.

"Miss Griffin! How lovely to see you on a fine day like this," Mr. Emerson greeted when they were finally alone, tipping his bowler hat to the fair maiden.

Clark inclined her head in greeting and smiled warmly despite having no feelings whatsoever for the man. "Mr. Emerson, I am pleasantly surprised to still find you among our fair folk of Polis. You do not have any immediate business in Washington?"

"Luckily not at present. And even if there was anything pressing to attend to back home, I'd find myself extremely reluctant to part with your vivacious company so soon, my lady." Mr. Emerson supplied in a simpering tone.

"That is very kind of you to say, Sir."

"Come now, Miss Griffin, there's no need for such formalities. We are well acquainted with each other now, aren't we?"

Clark gritted her teeth inwardly and kept her wide smile intact. "Certainly, we are. Would it suffice to say that we have become good friends, Mr. Emerson?"

"My dear lady, I think it suffice to say that it is not friendship which I desire from you. Have you given no more thought to my recent proposal?" Mr. Emerson inquired, his patience beginning to wear thin with the lady's coyness.

The young lady cleared her throat and put a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a cough. "I'm afraid I have not, Mr. Emerson. As I have said time and time again, I have no plans to marry any time soon. While I think that you are a remarkable man in every way, I still maintain that we would not be a good match."

"I respectfully disagree, Miss Griffin." Mr. Emerson argued, growing steadily more aggressive as he spoke. "What could possibly be keeping you in Polis when your dearest companions still remain in Washington the District? I have said it many times: you are a goddess that fell from the sky and graced the ground with her tender powers. While this village is enchanting in its own way, it is nevertheless dull and isolated, too much so for a woman of your class and temperament."

"Now I must respectfully disagree, Mr. Emerson," Clark countered in that same sweet tone, but with eyes as hard as flint. "While you may find Polis beneath your standards, it is my home and part of my ancestry. I belong here with my own people and any man who is willing to marry me would see that quite plainly."

Mr. Emerson smiled, but inside he was seething. He was determined to have the woman and everything that came with the grandeur of her wealth for himself and he refused to see any hindrance to his plans. "I see there is no convincing you at this time. Perhaps I should try my luck on another day."

"Perhaps," the lady agreed without any real conviction.

Despite his sour mood, Mr. Emerson was still a gentleman, if only in outward appearance. So he did the respectable thing and bowed cordially to Clark Griffin. The lady in turn inclined her head slightly and without an ounce of regret, watched the man take his leave.

Indra, Clark's hand maiden, shook her head and scowled disapprovingly after Mr. Emerson's haughty frame as he side-stepped a group of unruly children. "I don't like the look of that man at all, my lady. He will do anything to have you."

Even though Clark silently agreed with her maid, she smiled brightly nonetheless. "Nonsense, Indra, Mr. Emerson will soon find another woman who assuages his ego better than I ever could. Come on, Miller and the carriage are waiting for us."

The young lady retrieved her umbrella and she and her entourage made their way slowly through the crowd. Unbeknown to them, a figure with dark etchings around their eyes stood in the distance, having witnessed the conversation between Miss Griffin and Mr. Emerson. And that same figure remained there afterwards as it began to drizzle, pensive and making plans.

* * *

Clark took her leave of the festivities in Polis and made her way back to Arkadia with Miller, her valet, tightening the reins on her four stallions which pulled her carriage through the greying slops of mud decorating the hillocks. What had begun as a cheerful day soon became sombre with dark clouds filling the sky, pelting the exterior of the carriage with silver baubles of rain.

It was already dark when the carriage wheels stopped in front of the manor house where Gustus, Clark's butler, awaited their safe return. That aged and venerable employee had already laid out a velvet carpet for his ladyship to step on and a lantern at the ready so she wouldn't lose her balance on the slippery cobbled ground.

"Thank you, Gustus," Clark offered with a radiant smile as she hastened inside, glad to be rid of the cold seeping through her damp skin.

Soon, the young woman was deposited into her copper bathtub filled with piping hot water and aromatic oils to relieve her body of tension. But still, she could not relax while Indra and two of her other servant girls dried her naked body with a fluffy towel, dressed her in her nightly frock and combed her long blonde hair. Something about Mr. Emerson's words from the afternoon still bothered her intensely. She sincerely hoped that he was not going to make a nuisance of himself. Despite the kindly concern of the townsfolk who idolised her, she did not feel lonely or in desperate need of a husband. While she always welcomed companionship in any form, Clark was too much of a free spirit to reconcile herself to the idea of bartering away her independence for something as trivial as a permanent companion who sought to dominate over her.

She fell asleep with these troubling thoughts floating around in her head when she was rudely awoken hours later. The clock had struck three and her entire household was roused from sleep by the sound of pounding hooves and the doors of her ancestral home being broken down. Clark heard the unmistakable sound of Gustus rushing to the front door, crying out in alarm before he grew eerily silent. Indra and the other maids had ushered Clark out of bed and were about to herd her to safety when the door to her bedroom fell down with an almighty crash. Four men entered that private domain and rudely shoved the inferior maidens aside and grabbed Miss Griffin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Clark demanded heatedly, trying to wrestle her wrist out of the grip of one of her captors. "Who are you?!"

"You're to come with us, Miss Griffin. My master is waiting for you." the man holding her wrist sneered.

Clark reeled back in horror when lightning streaked across her bedroom window, illuminating the man's russet features, recognising him instantly as one of Mr. Emerson's henchmen. Her horror intensified when the man leered and surrounded her completely till all she saw and felt was an impregnable darkness.


	2. Ch 2 - The Rescue

_Author's Note: Just to give you all a heads-up, I'm going to try to keep these chapters relatively short with a few exceptions in-between. I'm heavy on that Charles Dickens/Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 'serialisation of mini chapters' grind, which incidentally has nothing to do with 'The 100', but is fun to do and keeps me disciplined as a writer :-P Without further ado, more nefarious schemes from Mr. Emerson. I really don't like that 'Mountain Man' douchebag)..._

 _Disclaimer: All images and TV-show references belong to 'The 100'._

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 **Clark Griffin woke hours later** to the sounds of hooves pounding beneath her, causing her entire body to shake and rattle mercilessly. She opened her bleary eyes and saw nothing but greens and browns whizzing rapidly past her, wind whistling through her tangled blonde hair. She looked beneath her and realised that she was being transported on a horse. Two men sat in front of her and behind her to steady her as they travelled at breakneck speed.

To her dismay, she realised that her hands were tied behind her back with thick coils of rope. Try as she might, she couldn't see herself breaking past those tight knots which were clearly made by an experienced sailor.

"The Princess of Polis has finally woken…" the man nearest her sneered openly.

Clark' eyes narrowed when she recognised her first assailant, who happened to be the right-hand man of Mr. Emerson, the supposed gentleman who was desperate to marry her. Now the young woman finally had an inkling of how accurate her hand maiden Indra had been about Emerson's nefarious intentions.

"Wick," Miss Griffin breathed with the utmost venom. "What is the meaning of all this?"

The man named Wick chuckled in amusement while keeping the horse's reins firmly in his calloused hands. Clark had taken an instant disliking to Wick since the first day they'd met. While he'd been charming and tipped his hat in a servile greeting to her, Clark had noted the way he had leered at women passing through Polis on many occasions, his eyes practically undressing them with vulgar curiosity. There was something about Wick that made even the lowliest of women suspect that he was far from being a gentleman.

And this was the man that Emerson had sent to abduct her and to possibly do other unspeakable things to her if she didn't cooperate.

"My master is anxious to meet you again and sent me to fetch you."

"This is completely absurd! This is kidnapping! By now, my people will be looking for me!" Clark fumed in an irate voice, even though she was terrified out of her mind.

Polis wasn't exempt from horrible incidences which plagued the rest of Washington the District – stories of unmarried girls vanishing from their homes and reappearing months later as women married to wealthy businessmen who were brutes content with using and abusing them under the sanctity of holy matrimony. Clark herself had stepped in on many an occasion when these misogynists had tried to make off with young women from Polis; the irony wasn't lost on her knowing that there would be no one to intervene on her behalf.

Hot, angry tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she contemplated on what she could do. She studied her surroundings as dirt flew up all around. The air was drier and all she could see were tall mountains, grass as brown as thatched hay and columns of forests stretching out before her.

"Where are you taking me?" Clark demanded, tasting bile in her throat.

"Somewhere that Mr. Emerson has picked just for the two of you and as far away from Polis as possible." The man named Wick said with relish. Miss Griffin surmised that he must mean somewhere outside of the district completely.

"You can't honestly think that I will stand for this, do you? My servants will have notified the police by now and they will soon be hot on your trail."

"Let the police come. By the time they arrive, it will be too late. You'll be a 'kept woman', in every sense of the word," Wick answered, running his tongue reflexively over his yellowing teeth. "How much further?!" he called out to Shumway, his companion who sat behind the duchess.

"Not far!" Shumway yelled back. "We're close to the border-" His words were abruptly drowned out by a deafening sound, like the cracking of a whip. The horse was free of one of its passengers and a heavy body fell with a loud thump onto the barren ground.

Wick wheeled his head around sharply and stared in horror at Shumway lying meters behind them, his eyes wide and unblinking, dead from a gunshot wound straight through the chest.

"What the hell was that?!"

Clark' eyes opened wide when she heard the tell-tale sound of another bullet whizzing through the air and answering Wick's question. She and the other three riders turned backwards and witnessed an astonishing sight.

A fifth rider was coming up closely behind them, scattering dried grass and sand everywhere as their horse made deep furrows in the ground. Clark couldn't help noticing that the rider rode their horse while only grasping the reins lightly, a feat which not even the most precise and energetic horsemen could achieve. The stranger's build was small and lanky, hardly impressive in comparison to the four swarthy ruffians that Emerson had ordered to kidnap Miss Griffin. But the stranger had the element of surprise on their side and was outstripping the other four riders without breaking into a sweat.

Clark watched in amazement as the silent rider dispatched of the second kidnapper, a man named Jones, by firing off their gun yet again. This time, the bullet carved its way through the burly man's temple, sending him flying off his horse and getting unceremoniously trampled underfoot by Roan, the third kidnapper and a retired boxer from Coney Island. He answered this surprise attack by retrieving his own gun. Clark winced, hoping that the fight between the three riders wouldn't end with her falling and getting trampled underfoot too.

While Wick veered to the left to protect himself and his captive, Roan took aim and fired off a sloppy shot, which missed the new rider by inches. The rider in turn kicked at their horse's side and sped up, racing alongside Roan and his horse. Clark watched in muted horror as the mysterious stranger got up and balanced themselves on top of the horse before leaping into the air. They landed on top of Roan's horse and with a few tricks of their own, dislodged both the gun and Roan with swift kicks to his wrist and throat. Roan's fate was a lot kinder than Jones as he fell to the side and fell headfirst into a thick oak tree. The heavy collision knocked him out completely and he lay as still as a statue in a patch of wild flowers.

Wick pulled out his own gun and began firing random shots at the unknown rider. Clark's heart leapt in her throat as the rider coaxed their horse into dodging every blast from Wick's gun, gaining on them inch by inch. When the stranger landed up side by side with Clark, she emitted a sharp gasp. The rider was dressed in the strangest attire she had ever seen: a long velvet maroon cape with a hood which covered most of their head, a long-sleeved black shirt and pants encased in shiny black armour. But more startling than this was the intricate design of black war paint that criss-crossed over emerald green eyes.

The stranger looked right at Clark and winked salaciously right before pulling closer towards Wick and punching him right in the face. Wick emitted a cry of rage and wound his arms around the stranger, trying his best to dislodge the latter from the seat on his horse. In the midst of the scuffle, Clark had managed to shift her position on the horse so that her bound wrists had hooked themselves around the clips at the back of the horse's saddle. If anything happened to her, at least she wouldn't be thrown from her seat.

Wick smiled maniacally when the stranger made to shoot him, but the trigger clicked impotently, indicating that they were out of bullets. Clark screamed when Wick drew out his own gun. But before he could fire, the horse ran haphazardly over a large stone, unseating Wick temporarily and his aim, sending the bullet into the saddle on Roan's horse without harming the creature. The stranger took their own gun and threw it, hitting Wick in the nose. Wick's head snapped back and before he could right himself again, the stranger laid down in perpendicular fashion on top of Roan's horse, drawing back the heels of their riding boots and kicked at Wick's right-hand man with all their might. Wick cried out in surprise and pain as he fell from his horse and rolled down a small fissure in an unconscious heap.

Even though there was a victory at hand, Miss Griffin was still in grave danger. Without any rider seated in front and behind her, there was no way of ensuring that her bound wrists wouldn't detach from the horse's saddle and send her flying too. Thinking quickly on their feet, the stranger leapt onto Wick's horse and grabbed at the reins and the edge of Clark's dress with all their might. If the lady somehow fell in the midst of all this, then this impromptu rescue would be for naught. Clark saw them approaching a cliff with a sheer drop of more than 1000ft and shut her eyes, praying to the gods that they wouldn't go over the edge and into the body of freezing water below. The hooded figure emitted a sharp piercing cry which sent several birds in the trees overheard shrieking into the sky while grabbing at the horse's neck and pulling as hard as they could.

Despite once belonging to a brute of a man, the horse yielded to the stranger's command and came to a screeching halt at the edge of the cliff with its new rider and Miss Griffin still on top of it. The hooded figure jumped off the horse and not a moment sooner when Clark' eyes rolled into the back of her head and she nearly fell from her seat due to sheer trauma and shock. But her saviour grabbed her limp body and steadied the lady, running delicate, tanned fingers over Clark' face in a bid to rouse her.

After several tense minutes, the lady opened her bleary eyes and saw that she was still miraculously seated on top of the horse. And the hooded figure who had vanquished four bandits with impossible acrobatics now stood in front of Wick's horse, caressing the beast's neck and whispering soothing words in a foreign language in its ear. The stranger lifted their face towards the duchess and Clark was struck by the intensity of eyes greener than oak leaves gazing speculatively at her.

"Miss Griffin…" the stranger said in a strange, hoarse whisper. "I am happy to see that you are revived."

Clark was even more puzzled when the stranger smiled brightly at her, almost as if the past instances of deplorable insanity hadn't occurred.

"I apologise profusely for the manner in which I dispatched of those brutes who kidnapped you." The stranger continued. "I must try to get you home before nightfall or else your household will be worried for your safety."

"My household? Did they send for you?" Clark asked curiously.

The wealthy maiden quirked an eyebrow when the hooded stranger smiled uncomfortably. "I'm afraid not, my lady. By a happy coincidence, I overheard what Emerson and those brutes planned to do with you. So I followed you all from a safe distance for several miles before exacting my revenge."

"Your revenge? What quarrel could you possibly have with those men?" Clark questioned in alarm.

"They tried to harm a noble woman: that is my quarrel with them," the stranger retorted, their jaw heavy with tension.

Before Clark could respond, the stranger moved to her side and undid the ropes on her wrists. Now that her hands were free, the wealthy maiden was acutely aware of the stiff pain which coursed through her bones. But she was thankful to be alive and safe for the time being. Her heart palpitated when the stranger's hands dove into the knapsack which hung from the horse's saddle and retrieved yet another pistol.

"What are you doing?"

"I killed two of your captors, but the other two might prove to be very dangerous if I don't deal with them quickly." The stranger must've read something in Clark's features because they decided to elaborate further. "I will leave these two as a warning to their master not to attempt to kidnap you again. I give you my word that I will only tie them up in the same manner as they did with you."

The hooded figure made good on their word by grabbing the rope which Clark had previously been bound with and began jogging towards the fallen captors. It was all that Clark could do to watch her hooded saviour drag Roan's unconscious body towards Wick's still form and tie the two men together as if they were two prized boars at the market. The lady watched in awe as the stranger drew a knife from inside their riding boot and began making incisions in the men's clothing, almost as if they were writing a message in the fabric. It wasn't long before the hooded figure was running back towards Clark.

"Miss Griffin, we would do better to take the horse I rode. She is my master's and exceedingly faster."

Clark was at a loss for words and nodded mutely, allowing this kind stranger to help her dismount and re-mount their horse, a grey stallion with white spots mottled all over its body. It was all she could do to let the hooded figure climb in front of her and hold onto their velvet cape for dear life as they turned and rode the way they had previously come.

* * *

Clark couldn't be sure of the exact hour, but dusk took a long time to come when she could finally smell the briny air of the lake and spot the bright emerald hillocks of Polis coming into sharp focus. The hooded stranger and the horse seemed to know their way around well, leaping and bounding through hillock after hillock till they finally reached the gates of Arkadia, which had been left open.

The sun had turned a delightful shade of pink and red as it dipped lower in the sky over Polis. The horse had slowed down to a jaunty trot and the rhythmic motion was enough to send the fatigued lady into a peaceful slumber. There was something about feeling the velvet threads of the hooded figure's cape spilling through her fingers accompanied by the warmth of that person's sturdy body in close proximity which comforted her.

"Miss Griffin, we are here," the hooded figure spoke for the first time in hours.

Clark gazed in wonder at her home, feeling the deepest gratitude for her safe return. She had just enough strength left in her feeble body to dismount from the horse and give it a gentle pat on its back.

"Thank you," she whispered, secretly delighted when the giant creature emitted a happy neigh.

The stranger had dismounted too and before the duchess could protest, discarded of their velvet cape and draped it around her shoulders. She remembered too late that she'd been wearing her scant night dress and nothing else when those brutes had kidnapped her.

"I cannot accept this-"

"It is improper for you to be seen in your outer garments, my lady. You needn't worry, it is only a loan. I shall return in time to retrieve it." The stranger interjected, offering a wan smile at Clark.

It was all that Clark could do to smile in return, feeling a steady surge of warmth spreading through her veins. "Thank you for what you did for me today. I don't know how I will ever repay you."

"Your safe return to your rightful home is payment enough for me, Miss Griffin." The hooded figure murmured.

A gust of wind blew over Clark' face and she gasped at the sudden stinging sensation which she felt on her cheek. The hooded figure was by her side in an instant, sweeping delicate fingers over the maiden's face before asking for permission.

"Those bastards…" the stranger whispered with contempt. There were marks and swelling on the duchess' face where Roan the retired boxer had slapped her when she tried to get out his grasp as they dragged her outside of Arkadia the day before. An ugly bruise had formed which was criss-crossed by a faint reddish cut underneath her left eye. It was all the hooded figure could do not to ball their hands into fists at the sight. "I should've killed them all…" the stranger whispered half to themselves.

But Clark still heard the retort and gently removed those fingers from her cheeks, willing her heart to stop pounding from the sensations which those gentle hands had wrought on her body. "I'm happy that you didn't. Blood on your hands will only taint your soul in the long run." Clark declared, shuddering at the cold which passed through her body.

"You needn't worry about my soul, Miss Griffin. Blood must have blood, and I am content that it is not yours that was spilled," the stranger remarked with an unnerving smile.

Their faces were so close together that Clark could pick out the crude design of dried black paint streaming down the hooded figure's green eyes like scorching flames. Just then, they heard raised voices and approaching footsteps.

"It is time for me to take my leave of you," the hooded figure said in parting.

The stranger prepared to leave on foot when Clark noticed something. "Wait…what about your horse?"

The hooded figure turned back and smiled. "Blaze knows the way home, he is the flame which always guides me. You should get inside now, Miss Griffin, the wind is cold tonight."

"Won't you at least tell me who you are?" Clark called out as the hooded figure climbed stealthily up a nearby tree like a lithe panther.

The stranger leapt through a dense collection of foliage and settled in a low branch. "That is a story for another time. But if it pleases you, you may call me 'Heda' for now."

At that precise moment, Gustus and Indra came sprinting towards Clark.

"Miss Griffin!"

"My lady!"

"May we meet again, my lady." The hooded figure said in parting to Clark, who stared back at her in astonishment. And then the stranger vanished into thin air.

"Thank goodness you're safe. What in God's name happened?!" Indra demanded heatedly when she was assured that her mistress was safe, not having seen nor heard any of the previous exchange between the latter and the hooded figure.

"I'm alright," Clark chided soothingly, emitting shaky laughter as she spoke. "Emerson's men nearly made off with me all the way to Washington the District when someone stopped them."

"But who was it, my lady?" Gustus asked desolately. "The police had barely begun their investigations when you returned."

Clark sucked in her breath, remembering the savage way in which the hooded figure had dealt with those ruffians in contrast to the caring attentiveness they had exhibited when noticing the injuries done to her person.

"I don't have the faintest idea," the lady said in earnest.

But as she looked behind at the trees which the figure had disappeared into, she made a vow that she would find out their true identity somehow.


End file.
